


They Seek Him Here

by Spacecadet72



Category: Forever (TV), The Scarlet Pimpernel - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-01 21:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5221946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spacecadet72/pseuds/Spacecadet72
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the French revolution, a mysterious Englishman known as the Scarlet Pimpernel, along with his loyal band of followers, rescue French aristocrats from the guillotine. Sir Henry Morgan, Bart. is one of the richest and most fashionable men in England. While in Paris, he sees the beautiful and clever French actress Abigail. They marry after a whirlwind romance, but something from Abigail's past threatens to come between them. Citizen Louis Farber is determined to discover the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel, and blackmails Abigail to find out for him. Little does she know that her foppish and empty headed husband has a few secrets that Farber and the rest of the Committee of Public Safety would love to know.</p><p>Scarlet Pimpernel AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	They Seek Him Here

**Author's Note:**

> I play pretty fast and loose with both historical accuracy and the various canons, but this is mostly based off the original novel by Baroness Orczy and the 1982 movie starring Anthony Andrews and Jane Seymour. 
> 
> Title comes from a poem (penned by Sir Percy) from the book:  
>  _They seek him here, they seek him there_  
>  _Those Frenchies seek him everywhere_  
>  _Is he in heaven or is he in hell?_  
>  _That demned elusive Pimpernel_
> 
> And a huge thank you to [idelthoughts](http://archiveofourown.org/users/idelthoughts) and [aika_max](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aika_max) for beta'ing this.

“Death to the aristos! Long live the Republic!” 

The voices overlapped one another, creating a wave of sound that drowned out the sobs of the people being led to the guillotine. Their clothes, once fine and shining, were torn and caked with grime. Some went up the steps to Madame la Guillotine their shoulders shaking and their heads bowed; others with their heads held high until forced under the blade. 

It was an all too familiar scene in this place, and it was the sign of a new order, ushered in by the screaming, filthy masses tired of the struggle to live while the nobility enjoyed their excesses.

A row of women sat near the front, knitting and gossiping, their rough, rasping voices mixing in with the shouting from the crowds. They gathered each day underneath the shadow of the guillotine, and bore witness as head after head rolled across the scaffold. 

An old woman, withered and coarse both in manner and appearance, sat near the front, calmly adding the latest lock of hair gifted to her from the executioner to the end of the handle of her carriage whip. She stroked the hair with long, arthritic fingers, and leered at the victims as they one by one walked up the steps. 

“Long live the Republic!”

This would continue, day in and out, until sundown, when the crowd would disperse and the blade of the guillotine would be given a respite from its gruesome work for the night. 

But the entertainment was far from over for the people. They would rush to one of the city gates, where once again, those damned aristocrats would be on display for their amusement. 

Every night, one or more nobleman or woman would try to flee the country using some manner of disguise that they had thought would be enough to fool the guards at the gates. But the guards had a nose for sniffing out imposters, and the crowd was there to watch. 

A decently sized crowd had already gathered, waiting for that moment when a cart rolled up, containing the woman from the executions, her tokens still tied to the handle of her whip. 

Even the crowd gathered, who did not shy from the violence and terror of the guillotine, shuddered at the old woman stroking the locks of hair with her gnarled fingers.

“Papers?” the guard asked, holding out his hand. 

She handed them over to the guard. 

“I did not think I looked like an aristocrat, but thank you for the compliment,” she said with a rasping laugh. 

The guard looked annoyed at the joke, and after inspecting them, handed her back her papers. 

“What have you got in the cart?” he asked, stepping forward to look inside. 

“It is only my grandson, but I would be careful if I were you, citizen. He has smallpox, but it may be the plague. If so, I won’t be in my usual spot tomorrow.”

At the mention of the disease, the guard and everyone watching took several steps back. 

“Get out of here. We don’t want that sickness here,” the guard commanded, pointing at the gate. 

“Alright, alright,” the old woman grumbled before driving her cart out the gate. 

Everyone was quiet after that, the light hearted mood gone. 

Almost half an hour after the old woman had left, a group of soldiers rode up on horseback. 

“Citizen,” the head soldier said, addressing the guard, “an old woman and her grandson went this way with a cart. Did she pass through?”

The guard nodded. “Yes, her papers were all in order.” 

“You let them leave? Fool! That was the Scarlet Pimpernel! He has escaped with the Duke and Duchess Carlyle and their son.”

The guard’s face paled, and the soldiers galloped through the gate. 

The soldiers slowed their horses to a canter once they were past the gate, and rode to a spot down the road where a cart was partially hidden from view. Sitting on the cart, waiting calmly were the old woman and her grandson. 

“Did everything go to plan?” the old woman asked once the soldiers had reached them, the harsh, grating French accented voice dropped for a smooth, and distinctly male British one. 

The lead soldier answered with a nod and a smile. “With nary a problem.” 

“Nary a problem? Moore, I do believe you’re forgetting the overzealous guard at the prison.” 

This came from Lord Michael Hanson, a dark haired man, sitting astride the horse just behind Sir Sean Moore, his expression incredulous, but his tone good humored. 

Sean’s smile widened. 

“We got away from the rascal, did we not? What’s an adventure without a little danger, hm?”

Hanson shook his head, before leading the other three people, the Duke and Duchess Carlyle and their son dressed as soldiers further into the woods. 

Sean walked his horse closer to the old woman, out of the earshot of the Carlyles. “Are you coming with us, Henry?” Sean asked. 

Henry shook his head. “No, I must return to Paris. I’ve business to attend to there. Continue onto the rendezvous as planned. I’ll see you in England before Michaelmas.” 

Sean nodded before walking his horse to join Hanson and the Carlyles. 

“Thank you, monsieur,” the Duchess murmured to Sean as he reached her. She glanced over at Henry. “Can that be the Scarlet Pimpernel? He is known for his ability to disguise himself as anyone.” 

Sean looked over as well, and Henry gave them a nod by way of greeting. 

“It is, Duchess. He is the reason you and your family will be on English soil before nightfall.” 

“We helped,” Hanson muttered good naturedly.

Sean grinned. With one last wave at Henry, they all rode off, leaving just Henry with the cart. 

Henry removed his wig, and the false nose he had been wearing. Already, he looked more himself, even in the dirty dress and made up wrinkles. Pulling a change of clothes from out of the cart, he changed quickly and wiped the make up from his face and hands. After hiding the cart further in the woods, he unhooked the horse from the cart and mounted it, looking every bit the English gentleman. He rode off back towards Paris, the old woman completely left behind. 

———

Abigail Rayne leaned her head back, stretching her neck out as a stagehand helped her undo the clasps on the back of her dress. 

She never felt the fatigue or pains until the curtain was down and she was off the stage. Somehow, the energy from the audience and knowing that she was helping create a whole new world for them buoyed her through the long hours. After, as she got undressed and became Abigail again, her exhaustion would make itself known and her muscles would reveal their aches. 

The stagehand finished undoing the back of her dress, and she thanked them as they left. Now alone, she stepped out of the dress, and standing in just her shift and corset she stretched her arms high above her head.

“Abigail?”

Abigail turned toward the door where Colette, a fellow actress, was standing, looking worried.. 

“Yes? What is it?” Abigail asked, Colette’s manner causing her to worry herself. 

“It is your brother--”

“Lucas?” Abigail asked, rushing forward, her eyes wide with concern. “What happened? Is he alright?”

Colette nodded, but it did nothing to soothe Abigail’s worry as she continued. “He was attacked on the road by two ruffians. An English gentleman rescued him.”

Abigail moved back into the dressing room, grabbing her day dress and throwing it on. She did not worry about undoing her hair or removing the heavy stage makeup. Lucas needed her. 

Colette gave her the address of the inn where they had stopped for help, and Abigail rushed out. 

On the way over, Abigail sat in one of the hired carriages, her fear for her brother’s safety only growing. Their parents had died when they were both still young, and Abigail had had to be both sister and mother. Colette said he was fine now, and she had to focus on that. 

The carriage soon stopped in front of the inn, and Abigail paid the driver before all but running inside. 

“Lucas?”

“Abigail?” 

She saw him sitting in the corner, hunched over and nursing his right shoulder. She hurried over to him, and sat next to him, her hands fluttering over him as she fussed. 

“What happened? I was told you were attacked?”

Lucas nodded. “St. Irene hired two men to attack me because I had been talking to his daughter.” 

Abigail frowned. She had known Lucas had been wanting to court Mademoiselle St. Irene and while she had not thought the girl a good match for him, she should have known that her father, a Marquis, would feel the need to show Lucas just how unworthy he thought him as a suitor for his child. 

“How dare he do this to you,” she said, her anger growing as she noticed all of the cuts and scrapes he had sustained from the attack. 

Lucas nodded, but Abigail knew he did not feel the anger the same way she did.

“I was lucky that gentleman stopped when he did,” Lucas said gesturing to a man sitting at a table across the room in the corner. She could not see him clearly in the dim light, but she could tell that his clothes were expensively made. 

“I should go thank him,” she murmured as she looked him over once more. “Will you be alright for a moment?”

Lucas nodded, and smiled to let her know he was fine. 

With one last worried glance, she stood up and walked over to the corner. 

———

There was the sound of a heavy skirt swishing against the floor as a voice, low and warm, spoke. “Thank you, monsieur, for saving my brother. I do not know how we can repay you.” 

Henry looked up, a charming but inane smile on his face. It fell, his expression turning awed, as he took in the woman in front of him. 

“It was my pleasure, mademoiselle, to offer my assistance,” he managed to say after several beats of silence, but his voice was hushed, his gaze ever fixed on her. 

She smiled at him with a look in her eye that she knew exactly what he was thinking. 

“I know it is not enough, but as a way to show you my gratitude, would you grace my brother and me with your presence as a small soiree we are having in our home?”

“I would be delighted.” 

“I have not even told you the time or date, monsieur. How would you know if you will be free on the evening of our party?”

“For such an invitation, mademoiselle, I will make myself free.” 

She was silent for a moment, her smile widening. “We will see you Sunday next then, sir.”

He bowed and took her hand in his, dropping a kiss on the back of it. “I would not miss it for anything, mademoiselle….” He looked at her questioningly. 

“Abigail. Abigail Rayne.”

“Abigail,” he said, and she smiled at the way her name sounded in his mouth. “That is a beautiful name.” 

“Thank you, monsieur. And your name is?”

“Sir Henry Morgan, at your service.”

“Sir Henry.” She repeated, her hand still in his. “Until Sunday,” she said, removing her hand slowly, her skin slowly brushing against his before walking away, but not before glancing his way once. 

———

“Good morning, Abraham,” Henry said, his smile wide as Abraham Morgan was shown into the parlor.

“You are happy this morning,” Abraham said as accepted the cup of tea offered him by one of the maids and took a seat in the chair closest the fire. “I know you only got back from France yesterday, but the latest rescue happened last week, and the League has only been preparing for our next adventure. What has you in such a bright mood?”

“Can I not be happy to see you, Abraham?” Henry asked, but his smile widened, and Abraham knew he dragging out his explanation. “I am always happy to see family.” 

Abe smiled at that. London, and indeed even the rest of the League, thought that they were cousins, and they were certainly close enough in age for that to be true. Closer in age than would seem possible for the actual truth of it. But then, immortal fathers were not a common phenomenon. They were fortunate that Henry had been able to raise Abraham abroad, and that the Morgans were known for being eccentric. Henry had discovered the orphaned, infant Abe while fighting in the Seven Years War. He had been afraid at the time that raising a child as a single man with a life as unstable as his would turn out to be a mistake, but sitting here 32 years later, sipping tea and talking about their lives, Henry could not find a single reason to regret it. 

Abe was the only one that knew this secret, that Henry never aged, and that when he did die, it never stuck. It had been useful in getting him out of scrapes while rescuing aristocrats from France, even if it raised some questions among his followers. 

“Never quite this happy,” Abe said, taking a sip of his tea. “What has happened? Tell me truly.” 

Henry smiled over the rim of his own cup. 

“I made the acquaintance of an actress there. She has invited me to a soiree at her and her brother’s home next week, and I am anxious to attend and see her again.” 

“I have never had a mother,” Abe said as he set his teacup down. “It would be an interesting experience, I think.” 

“Abraham,” Henry chided, but his smile gave him away. “I have only just met her.” 

“What is she like? You have not even told me her name.” 

“Her name is Abigail. I saved her brother from two ruffians who had attacked him, and she came as soon as she heard about the attack. Oh, Abe, she is beautiful and has such spirit. I confess, I have thought of little else since we met.” Henry finished speaking and looked over at Abe who was grinning widely. “What?”

“It is nice to see you so happy. You have been alone my whole life. I have never wanted that for you.” 

Henry was silent for a moment. “Thank you, Abe. That means so much to me.” 

Both Henry and Abe looked up as Henry’s butler walked in. 

“Sir Sean Moore and Lady Moore,” he announced before showing the couple in. 

Jo Moore was a tall, slender woman, who was a partner in everything to her husband. Many marriages were made solely for advantage, but Sean had truly found his match in Jo. They had both known Henry since he came to London several years ago. Jo was as much a member of the League as her husband, and for all that some of the men had initially harbored doubts about a woman joining their ranks, Henry had always known she belonged. Jo’s own strength and intelligent nature had long since pushed aside any doubts about her place. 

“What are you two smiling about?” Jo asked with a smile of her own as she accepted a cup of tea and sat next to her husband. 

“Henry was just telling me about an actress he met while in Paris.” Abe said, leaning back in his seat. 

Sean raised an eyebrow and smirked over his tea cup. “While on League business, Henry? For shame.” 

“It was not like that, truly,” Henry protested, his smile wide and care free. 

“How did you meet her? What is her name?” Jo asked. 

“Her name is Abigail," Henry said with a smile, “I was on my way back from visiting a friend in Paris when I happened upon her brother who was being attacked by two men. I fought them off, and then took him to a nearby inn to better assess his wounds. She came to claim him,” Henry said, and his smile softened and his eyes unfocused as he remembered. “She swept in and immediately went to check that he was alright. When she came to thank me a few minutes later, it was like she could see right through me…” he trailed off, not noticing the looks of amusement being exchanged between the others. 

“Will you be seeing her again?” Sean asked, pulling Henry back to the present. 

Henry did not even try to keep the smile from his face. “I return next week for a party hosted by her and her brother.” 

“Does this mean we will not be seeing much of you in London?” Jo asked, her expression teasing. 

“We do have many rescues planned for the next several weeks,” Henry said, deliberately misunderstanding her. “I suspect they will take me out of the country for much of the time.” 

Jo only shook her head in response. 

“It is good to see you so happy, Henry,” Sean said, his voice sincere, all teasing gone. 

Henry said nothing, only looked pleased before taking another sip of his tea. 

The conversation soon turned to other matters, and while Henry participated in the discussion, the deeply happy expression never quite left his face. 

———

Henry spent the next several weeks traveling frequently between Paris and London. This was not so out of the ordinary, for he was often in Paris on League business, but following the party at the Rayne’s, he spent much more time in Paris than he had previously. Every waking moment not spent involved with the League he spent with Abigail. Attending her plays, taking her to dinner, walking along the Seine, even a memorable, if somewhat disastrous picnic where the weather did not cooperate as planned. 

He grinned as he thought about how that picnic ended, both of them drenched, and hiding from the rain in a grove of trees. He remembered leaning down and pressing his lips to hers for the first time, how he couldn’t keep the smile off of his face even as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled herself closer. 

He’d had to remain in London for two weeks this time, and the wait had been interminable. He had been able to return to Paris in time to attend her latest play, and it had been an exercise in patience to see her and know that she was so close without being able to talk to her or touch her. The curtain had closed for the final time, and he was on his way backstage as soon as the house lights came back on. 

“Henry!” Abigail said as she opened the door to her dressing room. She was out of her costume, in a light, blue gown, but her hair was still in an elaborate updo, and she had not yet removed the stage make up. 

“Hello, darling,” Henry said as he walked in and handed her a large bouquet of flowers. She accepted the bouquet with a smile before setting it down and leaning up to press her lips to his. Henry smiled into the kiss and wrapped his arms around her. 

“Oh, Henry, it has been too long,” Abigail said, once he had pulled back. 

“I am sorry for that, darling,” he said, content to keep her in his arms. “I was needed in London for a while.” 

“As long as you are here now,” she said, stepping back. She went over to the vanity in the corner and began undoing her hair. 

“How did you like the play?” she asked as she pulled out pin after pin. 

Henry found himself transfixed on the way her hands moved through her hair and how the curls began to tumble down her back. 

“You were wonderful. and the costumes were beautiful, but completely inaccurate for that time period,” he said absently, still distracted as he watched her take her hair down.

She laughed, and half turned to face him. “You are an expert on fifteenth century fashion, now, are you? I don’t think most of the patrons pay much attention to the costumes except for how the actresses look in them,” her smile softened, and her voice dropped its joking tone. “I could spend the rest of my life getting to know you, and you would still surprise me, Henry.”

Henry froze. At the end of her life, he would still look as he did now, and she would be gone. He had been so focused on the present and how much he enjoyed being around her, that he had not given much thought to how this would end. 

“Henry?” she said, looking over at him, her hair up again, but in a much more simple style. “What is it?”

He gave a little shake of his head and smiled. “It’s nothing, darling. I just had a long journey.”

She smiled back, convinced by his excuse. 

He pushed the worried thoughts to the back of his mind, determined to at least enjoy tonight. 

“Now, where would you like to go for dinner?”

———

As he rode from Paris to London later that month, Henry knew it couldn’t last. He only had so many years before people would begin to question why he looked younger than he should. Even with his ability to disguise himself, could he ask her to live that life, to know that at any moment, they would need to uproot their lives and run? With his work as the Scarlet Pimpernel, it put him in danger on a regular basis, and that was without counting the constant threat of discovery that would send him to the guillotine. 

He was not willing to give up being the Scarlet Pimpernel. There was too much work to do, too many people to help for him to turn his back on them just yet. But he could spare Abigail that heartache now. It tore him apart to know that he would never see her again, never see her smile or hear her laugh or feel her lips against his, but Henry had not lived this long without understanding sacrifice. He knew there were many who would kill for immortality, to never age, but Henry knew that the longer you lived, the more you lost. 

He would have to break it off. It was the only way to save them both from more unhappiness in the future. 

———

“How is Abigail?” Sean asked once everyone had sat down and food had been served. Henry and Abe were having lunch at the Moore residence, and Henry typically looked forward to these visits, but he knew they would have a difficult time accepting his choice. 

“I have decided that Abigail and I must end our courtship.” 

Abe gasped, and they all appeared startled. 

“But why, Henry?” Sean asked, sounding as confused as they all looked. 

“You know the life we lead. It won’t end well, and I can spare her that grief now.” 

Sean and Jo exchanged a look before Jo spoke, her tone careful, but firm. “Henry, being involved in this work, being married to a man who is involved in this work is not easy. There is always that fear that something will go wrong and Sean, or any one of you will be hurt or arrested or killed. But I don’t let that stop me from living the life I want or loving the man I love. You can’t either. Nor can you make that choice for Abigail.” 

Henry shook his head, knowing they did not have the whole picture. How could they understand? 

“I know you mean well, Jo, and I appreciate your concern, but it is for the best that I end things now.” 

“Henry, you can make it work. I think she can handle it,” Abe said, and Henry knew he wasn’t only speaking about the League. 

Henry shook his head. “But should she have to?”

“I do not think you are giving her enough credit,” Jo said in a snappish tone. 

“I have written her a letter,” Henry said, slowly, not meeting their eyes. “I have need to be in Paris for other reasons, and will deliver it to her tomorrow.”

“Henry--” Sean began, but Henry held up a hand to cut him off. 

“I appreciate what you are trying to do, but please, I must do this.” 

———

He rode to Paris early the next morning. He arrived early to deliver the letter before she awoke. He wasn’t sure he could stand sure in his resolve if he had to tell her in person. He handed the letter to the servant at the door, and then walked back to his carriage. He couldn’t stop himself from pausing and looking back at the house a few times, knowing he would have only his memories of her. 

“Henry?”

His hand paused on the door to his carriage and he turned at the voice. Abigail had run out after him, his letter clutched in her hand. He could tell she had only recently woken, her hair was loose around her shoulders, a shawl wrapped around her to keep her warm against the early morning chill. 

“Why are you doing this?” she asked, sounding hurt and angry and not at all willing to let him go.

“It can’t last. It’s not a good idea.” 

“Why not?” she asked, stepping closer to him, her expression set. 

“I…” he trailed off, and knew she wasn’t going to let him go. He found that he couldn’t recall the reasons he had for breaking it off. They had seemed so right and logical when he had thought about it all last week in London. It wouldn’t end well. Even if he had been a normal man, leading a normal mortal life, the life he led was a dangerous one and she did not need to be mixed up in it. 

She held up the letter, opened and already crumpled. “I read your letter, and I don’t accept it.” 

“Abigail, it can’t work…” he began, looking up, searching for the strength to speak his piece and walk away.

“Do you love me?”

He could only stare at her in agony as his resolve crumbled. 

“Henry,” she repeated, moving ever closer to him. “Do you love me? If you don’t, I will let you go, but if you do…”

“I do.” 

The words slipped out without his consent. 

“Then stay,” she said, her voice low and soft, before she went up on her toes and captured his lips with hers. His arms went around her, and she was everywhere; the taste of her, the smell of her, the feel of her and he could not fathom how he had ever thought he could give her up. 

He pulled back, both of their breathing ragged, and looked in her eyes, more sure of his next course of action than was probably wise.

“Marry me.” 

Her mouth dropped open in surprise. “Henry…” 

“I know it’s rash, but you’re right. Marry me.” 

Her shock turned to happiness as a slow smile stole across her lips. 

“I will.” 

He beamed, and leaned down to kiss her once more. 

———

“Oh, Abigail, you look beautiful,” Jo said as she entered the room where Abigail was getting ready.

Abigail smiled as her lady’s maid helped her into her dress. 

“Thank you, Jo,” she said as she looked down at the dress, and ran her hands down the skirt, feeling the beading and silk beneath her hands. “It really is a gorgeous dress.” 

“It is,” Jo agreed as she stepped further into the room, “though as beautiful as you are, I do not think that Henry will notice the dress at all, for all that he loves a well tailored piece of clothing.” 

Abigail laughed. She could not believe that this day was truly here. Everything had happened so fast. Some might say this was rash, but she knew as soon as he had asked, that this was the right choice. 

“I know that we are new friends,” Jo began, taking Abigail’s hands in hers, “but my husband and I have known Henry for a long time. I have never seen him so happy.” 

“I am glad. He makes me happy too,” Abigail said, and pulled her hand back only to brush away a tear. 

Jo smiled back at her. “It is almost time for the ceremony to start. Are you ready?”

Abigail patted at her eyes with the handkerchief offered to her by her maid and nodded. “I have never felt as ready for anything I have ever done.” 

———

Abigail met Henry’s eyes with a smile as they brought up the procession arm in arm. He was beaming, and his eyes had not been dry since he had first seen her in her dress. 

“Are you ready?” she asked him, repeating Jo’s question from earlier. 

His smile widened, and she was not sure how her body was able to contain all the happiness she felt in that moment. 

“I am. Are you ready?”

She nodded. “I am.” 

The words felt like vows in themselves, and they reached the priest just as Abigail finished speaking. 

The priest smiled kindly at them, before addressing the whole crowd. Having attended weddings of friends and relatives, she knew the overall message of the priest’s words, but found herself glancing Henry’s way too many times to remember any actual phrasing. 

The priest concluded his opening remarks and then turned to Henry. 

“Henry Morgan, will you take this woman to be your wife, and love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health? And forsaking all others, keep only to her as long as you both shall live?”

Henry’s voice was soft, but firm as he spoke. “I will.” 

“And will you, Abigail Rayne, take this man to be your husband and obey him and serve him, love, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health? And forsaking all others, keep only to him as long as you both shall live?”

She nodded and felt tears of her own beginning to form. 

“I will.”

She and Henry turned to each other and exchanged their personal vows and then rings. 

She knew there was more to the ceremony, heard the priest recite passages from the Bible, heard him speak to the witnesses, but she could only focus on Henry in front of her and his hands in hers. 

At last, the priest finished speaking and gestured for Henry to kiss her. She rose up on her toes, her hands staying in his as their lips touched, and their lives as husband and wife began. 

———

“Abraham, I wasn’t expecting you today,” Henry said, ushering him in, gesturing for him to take a seat before sitting in the chair opposite him.

Abe’s expression was somber, and Henry’s smile faltered. His son was not known for being overly serious. 

“Abraham, what is it?” Henry asked, and almost wished he could take back the question as soon as he asked it. 

“Henry…” Abraham sat down heavily, seemingly struggling to find the words he wanted. “It is Abigail, she’s…”

“Is she alright?” Henry asked, dread filling his entire being. She was visiting her brother in France, and if something had happened…

Abe held up his hand. “She is safe, nothing like that has happened. I am still looking into them, but there are rumors and you should know.” 

“Rumors? What rumors?”

“Rumors that Abigail was the one who had the Marquis de St. Irene and his family executed.”

Henry remained silent for several moments as he took in the information. 

“It cannot be true,” he said finally. “As you said, it is only a rumor, meant to harm her, possibly now that she is connected to me.”

“That is what I thought too,” Abe said, his voice heavy and his shoulders slumped, “but the more I look into the claim the more it seems that there is at least some truth to it.” 

“You have proof?” Henry asked, his voice small and hesitant.

Abe shrugged. “It is possible. We are still looking into it--”

“We?”

“Sean and Jo know as well.”

“What proof could you possibly have?” Henry asked, suddenly standing and beginning to pace. “I refuse to believe that she is capable of such hatred.” 

Abe looked pained as he answered the question. “Lord Monroe claims he saw the arrest warrant with Abigail listed as informer, and there are witnesses that say they heard her denouncing St. Irene publicly.” 

Henry stopped pacing and turned to face Abe. 

“And you believe them?”

“I’m not sure what to believe, Henry, but there seems to be enough truth to it that we thought you should be made aware.”

Henry was quiet for several long moments. “You know that St. Irene is the one who had her brother beaten.” 

Abe nodded. They were both silent, neither moving as Henry struggled to take in what Abe had told him. 

“I know this is not easy to hear,” Abe began, standing up and walking over to Henry. “Would you like me to stay for a while?”

Henry shook his head. “No, I will be fine, thank you, Abraham.” 

Abe looked like there was more he wanted to say, but he only patted Henry on the shoulder and walked out of the room. 

It couldn’t be true, could it? He knew her, and she was strong and brave, and compassionate, not someone who could condemn an entire family to death. 

But St. Irene had hurt her brother, and Abigail was nothing if not fiercely loyal and protective, and if her design was revenge on the man she hated…

Henry sank down onto the chaise and lowered his head into his hands. Taking in a deep breath, he lifted his head and opened his eyes. He reached his right hand out to rub absently at the arm of the chaise, remembering back to those first few blessed weeks of marriage, remembered stealing a kiss, or several, in this very spot. 

He felt weak, but pushed himself up from his seat. It couldn’t be true—

But what if it was?

Henry pictured the faces of the men and women he and his band of followers saved, pictured the faces of those that they didn’t. If she truly believed in the same ideals as those that screamed in victory and hatred as Madame la Guillotine claimed one life after the other, how could he tell her the truth? How could he trust her again?

He turned, not quite sure where to direct his body or what to do next. His eye caught the painting above the mantle out of the corner of his eye, the one of the stormy sea that he had purchased after she had said that she thought it beautiful. Turning his back to that memory, he faced the window, flanked by the curtains that she loved. 

Despite having only been a resident for a short while, she was everywhere in this house. Everywhere and nowhere. 

Twirling once more on his feet, he grabbed his coat. Pulling it on, he strode out of the room. He needed to clear his head, and he couldn’t do it here. 

When he returned from a ride across the estate, a punishing one that had not quite allowed him to push her from his mind, he had decided on a course of action. He would wait. He had promised to honor and cherish her, and he would give her the chance to refute these accusations. Until then, he would wait. 

———

Three weeks later, and he was still waiting. Her trip home was not meant to be this long, but he had received a letter explaining that she was needed for a short while longer, and then she would be returning home. 

He had no doubt she was needed in France, but she was needed here, too. He needed to see her and touch her and ask her for her what had truly happened. It couldn’t be true. He had been offered proof, but had refused to see it, had wanted to ask her first, to see her face when he did. But that had been before she had kept him waiting, before he was alone in a large, empty house. He had League matters and the frivolities that everyone expected of Sir Henry Morgan to keep him busy during the day, but at night, the darkness and the loneliness made the time between the accusation and her return stretch out. 

He could stay alone in this house without knowing no longer. He pulled on his coat, grabbed his hat and headed out the door. 

He found himself at Abraham’s door a short while later. He could remember very little of it; the ride over, his thoughts had been filled with anguish over what he might find when he arrived.

“Henry, what is it?” Abe asked as Henry was shown inside. 

“I know I told you that I did not want to see the proof against Abigail, but I need to know.” Henry said, his hands trembling as he held his hat and asked his son for the evidence against his wife. 

“Henry, are you sure? Abigail should be back soon, why not just wait and you can look at it after you talk to--”

“I have waited, Abraham, and I cannot wait any longer without trying to ascertain the truth for myself,” Henry said, interrupting Abe’s hesitance. “Please, Abe, I must see it.” 

Abe sighed. “Very well,” he said before walking out of the room. 

He returned a moment later, with a stack of papers in his hands. 

“Here it is,” Abe said as he handed the papers to Henry who took them as if they were an animal capable of hurting him. “Most of it is witness reports from people we talked to, but Sean was able to sneak in and see the arrest warrant for himself. Lord Monroe was right, Henry. She is listed as informer.” 

Henry sank down into a chair as he looked through the papers. He did not wish to believe it, but the weight of the papers in his hands, heavier for what was written on them, was a hard thing to deny. 

As was the responsibility he had to those he saved in France. If this were true, how could he risk all of that? He closed his eyes, after reading one particularly damning report. She would be home within the week, and he knew what he must do. 

He opened his eyes, and looked up at Abe. “Thank you for this.” 

“Henry, I am sorry--”

Henry shook his head. 

“Not as sorry as I.” 

———

“Henry, darling! It has been so long.” Abigail greeted, her smile wide and loving. She ran over to hug him tightly. His heart, already shattered, crumbled just a bit more as he held her in his arms, knowing of the blood on her slender hands. 

He smiled back at her, but the movement felt fake and he could see it in her eyes when she noticed. She reached up a hand to cup the side of his face. 

“Henry? What is wrong?”

Of course she noticed. He had been so open with her before. How he longed for that time again. But he could not risk the lives of those he and his men saved, and so he forced a smile--one he knew did not reach his eyes--and brushed off her concerns. 

“Nothing, I am simply tired, that is all.” 

She stared at him, searching his face for answers, before she nodded and slipped her arm through his. 

She chattered on about her trip, telling him about how Lucas was, and about how she had visited the places they had gone when they were first courting. He smiled when she looked at him, and nodded along to her stories when appropriate, but he could feel the falseness of the actions. He knew he could as well. She kept sneaking glances, looking concerned before returning to her stories.

Finally, after she had told him everything she could about her trip, she turned to face him more fully. “How have you been, while I have been away? Not too lonely, I hope?” she said it with a smile, but he could see the worry in her eyes. 

He brushed aside her concern with a smile and a shake of his head. 

“I was able to occupy my time, but with nothing as interesting as your stories from your trip.” 

Before Abigail could respond, he continued. “You must be tired from your journey. I have some business to attend to, and would not wish to keep you up. You should rest.” 

Abigail frowned. 

“I am not very tired, but I will not keep you from your business matters,” she said before leaning up to kiss him softly.

Henry’s eyes slid closed, and it took all of his willpower not to pull her into his arms and deepen the kiss. She pulled back and he opened his eyes again. 

“Good night, my dear,” he said before walking away. 

———

Ever since she had returned from France, Henry had been different. He would give short, often trivial responses when she talked to him, or would cut their conversations short 

She knew, even if she did not understand why, that he showed a different face to the outside world, preferring them to think that there was nothing aside from the vain fop, nothing deeper going on inside his mind than how to tie his cravat the next morning. He spoke differently, walked differently, acted differently in public, and while he had been less than forthcoming about the reason for the façade, he had shown her the man behind the mask. Now, he showed her the mask and not the man. 

They were walking upstairs after dinner, one night almost a fortnight after her return. They were silent as they ascended the steps, and Abigail was determined to make some sort of real connection with him. 

She paused when they reached the top step. She turned to him, her expression soft, and hopeful. “Will you join me tonight?” It had been so long since they had spent much time together, even longer that they had spent the night in the same room. 

There was a flicker of something wistful across his face, and for a moment she thought that he was going to say yes, that whatever distance he had begun to put between them would be crossed. 

“I am sorry, my dear, but I am much too tired, and I am to leave at dawn. It would be best if I kept to my own rooms tonight.” 

She felt the disappointment keenly but was not about to give up on him or them. 

“You have been much occupied with business these past two weeks,” she began, hoping that her fear that this temporary change was not so fleeting was wrong. “When will you return from your trip? I feel as if we hardly see each other now.” 

He looked away, not meeting her eyes. “I am not sure how long I will be required in London. I would not wish to dash your hopes if I am away longer than expected.” 

Abigail almost took a step back at the accusation she heard in his words. Were they meant to be a criticism that she had been too long in Paris?

“What happened, Henry? I have come home to a stranger. This is not the man I married.” 

The tired, lazy expression remained on his face, but Abigail could see that her question had pushed him off balance. 

“Perhaps you did not know me as well as you would like to think,” was all he said, everything about him--his expression, his words, his tone--unyielding. 

Any hope that she had felt was gone, leaving only deep sorrow and a quiet hum of anger. She shook her head. “You’re wrong,” she said firmly. “I do not know what happened, but you are changed.” 

She walked towards her rooms, but turned back to face him after only a few steps. “I know my husband, and I know he is still in there, and I will not let him go so easily.” 

Henry simply stared at her, and she could not face him any longer. Without another word, she turned and walked into her room. 

———

A cart rumbled along the road outside of Paris. The driver was a middle aged man, stooped over the reins. It slowed down after passing a split tree by the side of the road, and turned into a small clearing in the woods. 

Hidden behind a cluster of trees were Abraham and Hanson standing next to a carriage. Abe and Hanson stepped forward and began unloading the back of the cart. Underneath the furniture and trunks, lay two women, covered by a large rug. 

“Comtesse Delacroix, Mademoiselle Delacroix, how does it feel to be out of the city?” Abe asked as he helped them down from the cart. 

“We can not thank you enough, monsieur,” the Comtesse said as she and her daughter made their way over to the carriage. “The only thing I could wish for now, is for my husband to be by my side.” 

“The Scarlet Pimpernel has not forgotten about your husband, Comtesse,” Hanson answered, as he helped her into the carriage. “He will join you in England soon enough.” 

The Comtesse nodded, and stepped into the carriage. “Thank you, monsieur.” 

“But surely…” Mademoiselle Delacroix started, before trailing off, her gaze dropping to the ground. 

“Yes, mademoiselle?” Abe prompted as they both stood by the carriage, the door open and waiting. 

Mademoiselle Delacroix raised her eyes to meet his, blushing prettily. 

“I would have thought you were the Scarlet Pimpernel. You are certainly dashing enough,” she said, her eyes bright, a hint of a smile on her lips. 

“I could never do what he does, but we all play our part, Mademoiselle Delacroix.”

She said nothing in return and they were silent for the next several moments until Comtesse Delacroix leaned out of the carriage. 

“Maureen,” the older woman said sharply, her lips curving downward at the sight of her daughter and the young Englishman.

“I am coming, mama,” she said, before placing her hand in Abe’s and allowing him to help her into the carriage. She stole one last glance before he closed the door and walked back to the cart. 

The driver of the cart smiled at the expression on Abe’s face as he walked towards him. 

“She is very beautiful, Abe,” he said, a light, teasing note in his voice. 

Abe grinned. “You are not the only one to fall for the charms of a beautiful woman from France, Henry.”

Abe’s eyes widened as soon as the words left his mouth. 

“Henry, I wasn’t thinking, I am sorry.” 

Henry brushed off the apology, but his answering smile was empty and did not reach his eyes. “It is alright, Abraham. Mademoiselle Delacroix is very charming and I hope you have the chance to meet her again.” 

Abe nodded, but the teasing moment between them was gone. 

———

“Henry, Abigail, I would like you to meet Maureen Delacroix,” Abe said as he walked over to them at the theater a week later, a pretty young woman on his arm. “Maureen, this is Sir Henry and Abigail Morgan.” 

“I saw one of your plays in Paris, many years ago, Lady Morgan,” Maureen said, after bows and curtseys had been exchanged. “I thought you were wonderful.” 

Abigail smiled. “Thank you, I am glad you enjoyed it.” 

Maureen opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by a sharp voice from just behind them. 

“Maureen, I forbid you to speak to that woman.” 

They all turned at the voice, to see the Comtesse Delacroix marching toward them. 

“Mama, what are you saying?”

“We just found out that she denounced the Marquis de St. Irene. She is the reason he and his entire family were sent to the guillotine,” the Comtesse said, addressing her daughter’s question, but keeping her attention on Abigail, her eyes hard. 

“Lud, madame, I did not think this was a courtroom, nor that you were a judge,” Abigail said the words with a smile, but they were as sharply edged as the Comtesse’s had been. 

Abigail looked up at Henry for support, but his expression was blank and he avoided meeting her gaze. 

“Comtesse, I believe the play is about to start, won’t you come join us?” Abe asked, pulling both the Comtesse and Maureen away as he cast nervous glances back at Henry and Abigail. 

The Comtesse allowed herself to be pulled away, but not before throwing one last glare in Abigail’s direction. 

Henry and Abigail were both silent as the others walked away. Henry’s face remained carefully neutral and Abigail was hurt that he had said nothing following the Comtesse’s accusation. 

“Do you have nothing to say, sir?” she asked, not knowing what she had done to deserve this treatment from him. Was it this accusation? Did he think she had really condemned a man and his entire family to their death?

“You do not believe it?” 

He finally looked at her, and the accusing look she had seen on the Comtesse’s face was clear in his eyes. 

“How can I not?”

Abigail could not bear to see that condemnation coming from the man she loved. 

“I thought you had more faith in me,” she murmured, pulling her arm from his. “I was wrong.” Without allowing him the chance to speak, she turned and walked away. 

———

Citizen Louis Farber, chief agent of the Committee of Public Safety sat at his desk, deep in thought. The Committee--now the de facto government since the overthrow of the old powers--had tasked him with finding the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel. 

He flipped a small, white piece of paper in between his fingers, running them over the ink. There was no writing on the paper, only a red flower. The Scarlet Pimpernel would leave these notes every time he and his band of followers stole another aristocrat from the guillotine. 

The Scarlet Pimpernel and his men had been a menace to their work for the past several months, and this last rescue was particularly frustrating. They had rescued the Comtesse Delacroix and her daughter just eight days prior. Comte Delacroix had been appointed the ambassador to England, before the revolution and Farber had considered using him to find the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel. With his family safely out of France, their leverage was gone. Farber knew a threat to Delacroix’s own life would not be enough for him to betray his class. 

Farber set down the Scarlet Pimpernel’s note and picked up a letter from his desk. Reading the words again, he smiled. The Comte may no longer be an option, but that did not mean he did not have a plan. 

———

“Lady Morgan?” 

Abigail turned at the voice, a polite smile at the ready. She and Henry were attending the Prince of Wales’ garden party, and while she enjoyed such functions, it was nearing the close of the event, and she found herself looking forward to returning home. 

She found herself facing a man of average height and build with nondescript features dressed all in simple black clothing. He stood out among the pastels and light neutral colors worn by the rest of the guests. What caught her attention most, was the accent that reminded her of home. It was not effortlessly high class like the French aristocrats that had taken refuge in England. 

“Yes, monsieur?” 

“My name is Louis Farber, madame,” he said, with a bow. “I was wondering if I might ask your help with something.” 

Abigail cocked her head, as she regarded him with wary curiosity. “And what might that be?”

“I would like you to help me find out the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel.”

Abigail laughed. 

“You are not the only one wishing for that information, monsieur, but I am afraid I cannot help you there.” 

“I am quite serious, madame.” 

Abigail’s smile faded. 

“Why are you asking me? I don’t know who he is. No one does.” 

“Now, that’s not true. Somebody knows his identity, and as the wife of the richest and most popular man in England, you know everybody there is to know.” 

“How am I to discover such a well guarded secret when you could not, Citizen Farber?” she asked, one eyebrow arched.

He only smiled at the barb. “Because no one suspects a woman, Lady Morgan, and I know that you are clever enough to find out the truth.” 

“Even if I did find out his identity, I would never tell you. The Scarlet Pimpernel is brave and a good man, and I will not deliver him to you so that he may lose his head for saving people.” 

“Not even with the right…persuasion?”

She tensed at that, his tone setting off warnings in her mind. 

“What do you mean?” she asked, keeping her tone cool. 

“Simply that if you don’t deliver me the Scarlet Pimpernel, I will send your brother to his death.” 

Abigail was barely able to stop the gasp that rose in her throat. “Lucas? But what has he done to deserve such a fate? He is no aristocrat. He has not betrayed your cause.” 

“Although you have with your marriage to a nobleman, an _English_ nobleman, and your speech about good men.” Adam said dryly, and Abigail felt lightheaded. “But you’re right. That is not enough. I also happen to have proof that he is a member of the Pimpernel’s League. Is treason enough for you, madame?”

“Lucas? It can’t be true.” 

But then, Abigail did not feel surprise at the reveal. Lucas had always been impulsive and often went looking for adventure. He had no doubt met members of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel after his introduction to London society through her marriage to Henry. 

“I have a letter written in his own hand that proves what I am saying is true.” 

Abigail remained silent as she thought through her options. 

Well, Lady Morgan? What is your answer? Will you help me catch the Scarlet Pimpernel?” Farber’s smile was sharp, and his eyes black pits as he stared at her, his expected victory clearly writ across his face. 

Her mind raced. How could she help this man? What he asked was deplorable, but neither could she leave her brother to die. Could there be a way to save them both?

She squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eye as she answered. “If it will save my brother’s life, I will.” 

Farber nodded, his satisfaction with her answer only growing as she stared him down, her hatred for him and what he was forcing her to do written clearly on her face. 

“Tell me, Lady Morgan, will you be in attendance at Lord Dawes’ ball next week?”

Abigail blinked at the sudden change in subject. 

“My husband and I had planned on going,” she said, her voice flat and matter of fact, even as she wondered as to his purpose in asking. 

“Excellent. I believe you can be useful there. I will see you then,” he said before bowing his head to her, and walking away without giving her a chance to respond. 

What had she done?

———

Henry reached his hand out to help Abigail down from the carriage once they had arrived at the Dawes Estate. He let go of her hand, and turned to go inside as soon as she was down. She sighed. She had been worried all week about Farber’s threat, and while she had tried to conceal her nerves, it stung that Henry had not noticed that anything was wrong. She should not have been so surprised, she supposed. There was a time he would have noticed and commented on any change in mood, any time he thought she might be hurting or in trouble. He barely seemed to notice her at all anymore. 

Henry escorted her up the steps, and into the house. Once they reached the ballroom, Henry bowed to her, and made his excuses before heading for the card room. 

Citizen Farber approached her as the first dance was announced. He bowed, and held out his hand. “Would you honor me with this dance?”

Abigail forced out a smile and placed her hand in his. 

“I have just learned that Sir Moore will be delivering a note to Lord Hanson. They are known members of the Scarlet Pimpernel’s League. I need you to find out what it says.” 

“Spy on my friends?” she asked with a raised eyebrow and an acerbic tone. “Is that all?”

Farber smiled, and Abigail was reminded of a predator about to strike.

“When we have discovered the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel and we have him in our custody, you will have your brother, and this will all be over.” His smile dropped. “But not a moment before.” 

“Do you have any more information on the note?” she asked, before the dance dictated she turn away from him. He walked around to meet her, and she continued speaking. “Any advice on how I should retrieve it?” 

His smile returned, all sharp lines. “That is up to you, madame. You are clever, I am sure you will figure it out.” 

She nodded, and they finished the dance in silence. She used that time to try and locate Sir Moore or Lord Hanson in the crowd. She saw Jo first, her husband would not be far from her, she knew, and spotted him only a few feet away, talking to Lord Hanson and his wife. This may be easier than she thought. 

She kept them in her sights as she and Farber moved around the floor. She barely kept track of the steps, relying on her familiarity with the dance to carry her through. Just before the last turn, she saw Sir Moore lean in on a laugh, and slip a small piece of paper to Lord Hanson. Turning back to face Farber and end the dance with a curtsy, she knew by the look of triumph on his face that he had seen the exchange as well. 

The song ended, and they were left facing each other on the dance floor. Farber escorted her off of the dance floor and bowed over her hand still clasped in his. When he stood back up, he caught her eyes in his. 

“You know what to do.” 

She nodded. 

“Thank you for the dance, Monsieur Farber,” she murmured before he left her. 

She took in a deep breath, and as if she were back on the stage waiting for the curtain to rise, she slipped into her new role. This process had never felt quite so wrong, but she pushed back any hesitation. If she did not do this, Lucas would die. 

Abigail walked over to Sir and Lady Moore, her smile warm and sunny. 

“Abigail, how are you? It’s been so long.” Jo greeted, her smile matching Abigail’s.

“I have been well. We should all meet for dinner one day soon, I will discuss it with Henry,” she said, turning to include Lord and Lady Hanson in her invitation. 

Jo exchanged a look with Sean, before turning back to Abigail and agreeing to the invitation.

Abigail exchanged greetings with the rest of the group, careful to keep her eyes away from the pocket of Lord Hanson’s suit she knew held the note he had been given by Sir Moore. 

The next dance was announced then, and Abigail turned to Lady Hanson. “Lady Hanson, would you mind if I borrowed your husband for the next dance? Mine has abandoned me for the card tables, and I hear Lord Hanson is quite the dancer.” Abigail made sure her smile was polite, but not overly familiar. While Lord Hanson was friends with her husband, she knew Lady Hanson less well, and could not be sure how she would react. 

Abigail inwardly sighed in relief when Lady Hanson only smiled at her and nodded. “Of course, Lady Morgan.” 

Lord Hanson led her out onto the floor and the music began to play. The dance was an energetic one, for which Abigail was grateful. A more sedate dance would not have worked as well with her plans. 

The liveliness of the dance also meant that conversation was not necessary. It gave Abigail time to think.

Halfway through the dance, Abigail slowed her steps and made her breathing a little shallower. 

“Are you alright, Lady Morgan?” Lord Hanson asked, sounding concerned. 

She looked up at him and smiled faintly.

“I am fine, I am only lightheaded. It is so stuffy in here. Lord Hanson, would you be so kind as to escort me to one of the side rooms? I need only rest for a moment.” 

“Of course, Lady Morgan.” 

Once they were out of the ballroom and in a small lounge just down the hall, Abigail sank onto a chaise along the far wall and closed her eyes, her hands moving up to massage her temples. 

As she had suspected and hoped, Lord Hanson did not leave her there alone, and instead took the opportunity to slip Sir Moore’s note out of his pocket. 

Abigail opened her eyes briefly, in time to see Lord Hanson burning the note on a candelabra. 

“What a wonderful idea!” she said as she leaped up and grabbed the note from him, blowing out the flame before he could protest. “My mother always burned a feather whenever I felt faint. This is just as good.” She waved the note in front of her nose, pretending not to notice the look of alarm Lord Hanson was trying to hide with a smile. 

Knowing she would only have a moment longer before Lord Hanson would get the note back, she stepped back and knocked over a bowl of fruit on the table behind her. 

“Oh no! How clumsy of me.” 

“It is no matter,” he said as he crouched down to pick up the scattered fruit. 

Abigail quickly read the note, and then handed it back to Lord Hanson when he stood back up again. 

“And to think, if you had been a moment longer, I would have found out the name of your admirer,” she said with a coy smile. 

“Admirer?” 

“What would Lady Hanson say if she knew you were receiving love notes from some lonely young woman?” she shook her head at him, but kept her tone light and teasing. 

He smiled back, clearly happy that she was so off the mark. 

“If you are feeling better, Lady Morgan, would you like to return?”

Once they were back in the ballroom, Abigail caught Farber’s eye, and nodded at the question so plainly written across his face. 

She thanked Lord Hanson and made her way across the room to where Farber stood. 

“I take it you were successful?” he asked as he took a sip from the glass in his hand. 

She nodded. 

“It was partially burned when I got to it, but I was able to read the end of the note.”

“And?”

“It said ‘Meet me in the library at midnight for your instructions’. There was no signature, only a red flower.” 

Farber’s grin widened, and Abigail felt sick at the sight of it. 

“Well done, Lady Morgan.”

Abigail glanced up at the clock. Only twenty minutes until midnight.

“If you’re information is correct, this will all be over shortly.” Farber said, and Abigail forced herself to meet his eyes. The pure elation she saw there was too much, and she took her leave, unable to get that smile out of her mind. 

———

The clock chimed twelve times, and Abigail closed her eyes. She knew Citizen Farber would be on his way to the library now if he was not there already, and that the Scarlet Pimpernel and his men were walking into a trap. The Scarlet Pimpernel was clever, and indeed, some said he must have angels on his side for all that he cheated death and the wrath of the Committee. 

She wanted to pray that he sensed the danger and could escape, but if he did, what of her brother? She could not bear to see him a victim of the guillotine. While such a hope twisted in her, making her feel ill, she hoped that Farber was successful. 

“May I have this dance?” 

Abigail opened her eyes to see a young man bowing slightly as he held his hand out. Calling on her experience as an actress, she slid a smile in place and when her hand reached for his, it did not shake. The man, Lord Abbot if she remembered correctly, led her in the dance, but she would not remember it. All she would remember was the terror as the clock ticked on, and she waited for Farber to reappear. 

———

Citizen Farber stepped into the library one minute after the clock had struck twelve. He looked around, but the room was empty. Had he missed them or had they realized the trap set for them? 

“Damn!” he muttered, before a noise in the corner caught his attention and he realized he was not alone. 

Stretched out on a couch at the back of the room, partially hidden from view, Sir Henry Morgan was fast asleep. 

———

The dance ended, the man bowed, Abigail curtsied, and she went back to the edge of the ballroom to wait. 

Another dance went by, and this time she was spared having to smile through the steps. She kept her eyes on the entrances to the ballroom, hoping to catch Citizen Farber before he left for the night. 

His dark coat was in stark contrast to the light colored and glittering suits and gowns worn by the other attendees, and she spotted him as soon as he walked past the door. Walking as quickly as she could without arousing anyone’s suspicion, she followed him out, catching him just as he was gathering his hat and coat from one of the footmen. 

“Citizen Farber,” she greeted, as he placed his hat on his head. “Have you found what you were looking for?”

Citizen Farber nodded, but the look he gave her was one she was unable to read. Was there hope for her brother? Had she just doomed an innocent man to his death?

“You have been very useful tonight, Lady Morgan, I thank you for your assistance.” 

He turned to leave, but she was not satisfied. 

“My brother is safe, then?”

He turned back to her, and the small smile he gave her only caused the fear in her stomach to grow. 

“When I have the Scarlet Pimpernel in custody, you will have your brother back.” 

With that he left, and she could only stare at his retreating figure, hoping that she had done the right thing. 

———

The carriage flew across the dark and deserted country roads, the trees and river illuminated in the moonlight. Abigail normally treasured these drives home from parties. Rather than stay in a separate residence in town, Henry preferred to drive back to their estate. It was one of his eccentricities that the rest of London harmlessly laughed at and overlooked due to his station, but Abigail loved it. 

These drives were the only time that she felt comfortable with her husband. He put on the mask in private as well as in public, and it only served to remind her of the man she had once known. But on these drives, she could sneak glances at his profile, the fine looks not ruined by the lazy look in his eye from that angle. He looked as he did when they were courting, and she could pretend, if only for this brief time, that she had him back. He was silent as he directed the horses, and as she sat beside him, she had no desire to disturb him, or the still and beautiful night, with inane chatter. 

This time, however, she found that she couldn’t enjoy the scenery as it rushed past, or the quiet comfort of her husband. The evening had been draining, and she was exhausted from all the intrigue. Her heart was heavy with sorrow and guilt for the brave man she had condemned, and filled with worry for Lucas. Farber was cunning, and she wouldn’t truly trust his word until she could see Lucas safely out of France. 

Despite the worry occupying her mind, the drive home seemed to take an eternity. She knew the horses weren’t moving any slower than they did any other night, but it seemed that time had slowed itself to torture her with her inability to act. She needed to do something to warn the Scarlet Pimpernel and ensure her brother’s safety, but for all that she was heralded as the cleverest woman in Europe, she had no idea what to do now. 

She glanced over at Henry. Could she turn to him? Or would he only look at her with that empty coldness that filled their every interaction now? Only months ago, and she could have been certain that he would have moved heaven and earth to stop her tears. Now…she wasn’t sure that he felt anything for her anymore. 

No, she would have to figure this out on her own. Sitting up straighter in her seat, she drew in a breath, her determination renewed. 

———

They arrived home a short while later, and they were both silent as he helped her down from the carriage. He bowed in her direction and turned his attention to the steward walking their way to see to the horses. She took her leave of him, and started around the house. Once she turned the corner, she paused. The moonlight bathed the garden in light, giving it an ethereal look. 

She stared at the moon, wishing for some wisdom or answer from the heavens, but there was only silence. She sighed and turned towards the house. Farber’s ultimatum and the choices she had made tonight had drained her, and she wished only for bed. 

She turned just as Henry was walking back from putting away the horses, his long coat swinging around his legs as he walked, his hands stuck in his pockets and his head down. 

“Henry,” she called out, and he stopped, his head snapping up to look at her. She thought she almost caught a glimpse of the man she once knew before his expression smoothed into the mask he displayed around her always now. 

“Yes, madame?”

“Won’t you stay with me a while? It is so beautiful tonight.” 

She had wished for bed only a moment ago, but now she wanted Henry, wanted the comfort she knew he could give if they could only go back to the happiness they’d had the months preceding their marriage. 

“I beg my lady’s forgiveness, but I am much fatigued after the ball. I would not wish to bore you,” he said stifling a yawn before he moved to continue on to the house. 

Abigail moved closer to him, her hand reaching out, but she stopped herself just short of touching his silk clad arm. He paused at her movement, but said nothing. She wrapped her arms around herself and took a few steps toward the house. 

“Oh, Henry…” she sighed, before turning back to face him. He remained as stiff and unreachable. 

“What happened? We were happy once.” 

“Once,” he repeated, his eyes cast downward and his voice soft, but the word was a dagger. 

“That was not my doing,” she said, fiercely, drawing closer to him, but this time not for comfort. “I came back from visiting my brother and you were changed.” 

“As I told you when you first returned, perhaps you did not know me as well as you once thought,” Henry said, not able to meet her eyes. 

“You and I both know that is not true.”

He turned away from her sharply, and the stiffness had returned. “We remember the past so differently, I see no point in continuing these reminiscences.” 

“You never asked me for the truth, Henry,” she said, quietly. “You took the word of others as proof. Were you scared they were right?”

He turned back to her then. “Were they right?”

Abigail shook her head. “Not in the way you think.” 

“That is not a denial, madame.” 

“You must understand, Henry, my parents died when Lucas and I were young. We raised each other, became the only family we knew. When St. Irene had him beaten, I was angry. Would you not be? In my anger, I spoke of it to an acquaintance, not realizing by doing so I was making any sort of official accusation. They reported the Marquis and connected my name to it. I could never send an entire family to their deaths. No matter what they had done to me.” 

Henry was quiet as he took in the information. She had hoped her side of the tale would help them go back to how things used to be, but he did not raise his eyes to meet hers. 

Abigail could not bear to let him go just yet. She had seen her husband, her real husband, if but for a moment, a man she had not seen for so long. She could not bear to let him go, not without trying to coax him out again. 

“Henry.” 

He looked up at her, but remained silent, waiting for her to speak. 

She walked over to him and reached out to cup his cheek gently, and his eyes slid closed. She felt his jaw clench under her hand, and when his eyes opened again, they were shining. She could see that damned English pride, but there was fear there too. Fear of her, and Abigail felt her heart clench in anguish as she thought of those happy days in Paris and where they were now. 

“Oh, Henry, I wish--” she broke off, dropping her hand from his cheek and blinking back tears of her own. Tears of frustration and hopelessness. 

“What, m’dear?” he asked, his voice soft, and almost tender, but it was too impersonal, too guarded. 

“What would you do if I were in trouble, Henry? Would you come to my aid?” she asked, her head turned and her gaze back on the moon. 

“Are you in trouble?” he asked, and she felt his hand brush her shoulder before he pulled back. 

“If I were?” she asked, looking back at him, willing him to show her some emotion, some part of his true self. 

“I would offer my assistance, of course,” he said, his words stiff. Abigail could hear the undercurrent of emotion, and knew that her husband was not gone, just hidden from her. 

“Henry, I…” she began, but paused, unsure of how much to reveal. Should she tell him about her part to play in helping Farber? Would revealing the truth help restore his faith in her, or would it only serve to distance them further?

“What is the matter?” Henry asked, some tenderness creeping into his tone. 

“There is a letter written by my brother that has landed in the wrong hands, and could cost him his life,” she said, blinking back tears. “Oh, Henry, I will not see him sent to the guillotine.”

Henry’s face paled as she spoke. 

“What is it you would have me do?”

“You have many friends at court, could you not influence them to do something?” Abigail asked. He was the richest man in England. There had to be something he could do if Farber did not catch the Scarlet Pimpernel. 

Henry nodded, and Abigail wished she dared tell him everything, but he was still so cold. 

“I will see to it that no harm comes to your brother. You have my word.” 

“Thank you, Henry,” she said fervently as she looked up at him, hoping that he would finally put aside his pride and his fear and show her his true feelings. 

But he only bowed, still stiff and said, “Do not thank me, for I have done nothing yet.” 

“But you will,” she said before bidding him good night and walking to the house. As she reached the door, she turned back, but he was still standing there, looking as he had when she had walked away. With a sigh, she entered the house and went upstairs. 

———

Abigail woke well into the morning, much later than was her habit. The ball and her conversation with Henry had been both draining and energizing, and she had been unable to fall asleep until the early hours of the morning despite the exhaustion she felt in every part of her body. 

She thought again over the events of last night, and specifically what had been said between her and Henry in the courtyard. She had been able to see, if only for a moment, that her husband was not gone, that the feelings he had once felt so strongly for her were not cooled, only suppressed. She did not know what it meant, but felt some hope at the realization. 

He had also promised that no harm would come to her brother, but how could he promise that? He had power and influence, that she knew. One did not have the wealth and status that her husband possessed, or the close friendship of the Prince of Wales without some say over political matters. But Henry had not seen the look of pure determination in Citizen Farber’s eyes, or heard the cries of the people gathered beneath the guillotine. Could he ensure her brother’s safety? Farber had promised it if he caught the Scarlet Pimpernel, but she was not entirely sure she could take his word either. 

With these thoughts whirling through her mind and knowing that staying abed would not solve her problems or soothe her troubled conscience, she threw back the covers and forced herself to get up and get dressed. 

She had no plans for the morning and very few items of urgency to fill her afternoon. After the ball last night, she wished only to forget. 

As she walked towards the stairs, she glanced down the hall opposite her rooms where her husband’s rooms were. She had little reason to go there now and would have walked down the stairs without a second thought if not for the fact that the room to Henry’s study was open slightly. 

Henry was the only one allowed inside the room, aside from his steward, John, and when it was not in use, it remained locked. John must have been cleaning the room, for why else would the door be open?

Looking around her to make sure that she was alone, she walked slowly over to the study door, curious about what was so secret about it. Peeking inside and seeing that it was empty, she pushed the door open and walked in.

The room was tidy, but clearly used often. There was a large map of Paris on the far wall, with several places marked in black ink. She walked closer to inspect it, and saw that she recognized most of the marked locations, had spent time in many of them growing up. 

She wondered what use Henry could have for a map like this. She knew he traveled to Paris on occasion, but had not thought he would be as familiar with the city as the map suggested. An idea, not yet fully formed, niggled at the back of her thoughts as she turned to look at the rest of the room. She walked over to the desk, idly looking over the papers, and smaller maps stacked in neat little piles. 

The room projected the image of someone strong and intelligent, and her surprise at that bothered her. When had she stopped thinking of him in those terms? This was as much a representation of who he was as were the gorgeous suits and the perfectly tied cravats. She had seen the real him, however briefly in the beginning, and she still had a hard time not believing the mask he wore. 

Suddenly, being in this room was no longer about satisfying her curiosity, and she knew she needed to get out. It was too strong a reminder of what she had lost. 

As she turned to go, a glint of something shiny on the floor next to the desk caught her eye. It was a gold signet ring, and as she ran her finger over the indentations in the top, she realized where she had seen the small floral design before. 

Last night, at the ball. 

It was a scarlet pimpernel. 

———

The butler showed Abigail into the front room, and Abe rose from his seat, his surprise and concern written clearly across his face. 

“Abigail, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

Abigail wished she had time for subtlety and a careful hand, but they needed to leave now, and she needed Abe’s help. “I know that Henry is the Scarlet Pimpernel, your leader, and if you care about him as much as I suspect you do, you will help me find him. He is in grave danger.” 

Abe sputtered for a moment, caught off guard by her pronouncement. “What kind of danger?”

“Citizen Farber knows his identity and will stop at nothing to see him under the blade of the guillotine.” 

“How did he find out?”

Abigail lowered her gaze, her fingers twisting the wedding band on her left hand. “I told him.” 

Abe took a step forward. “You told him?” he burst out in disbelief. 

“It was either that or send Lucas to his death. I did not know that it was Henry until it was too late, but now that I do, I can set things right.” 

“Why come to me?”

“You and Henry are close,” she began, softly, “you would know his mission and where he’ll be. That will speed up the process considerably. And,” she continued, with a small, self conscious laugh, “I thought you might be the one most likely to forgive me.” 

Abe just looked at her for several long moments. Abigail raised her eyes and stared back at him, not in defiance, but willing him to believe her. 

Abe sighed. “Very well, let’s go.” 

———

Abigail felt helpless as she spurred the horses along in her thoughts. She and Abe were sitting in the carriage, and while he had told his man to push the horses, it still didn’t feel fast enough. They certainly couldn’t compete with her racing thoughts. 

She could still not quite believe that her husband and The Scarlet Pimpernel were one and the same. So many feelings rushed through her as the carriage raced toward France. She felt incredibly foolish as well. How could she not know? It was true that they had become strangers living under the same roof, but they did live together and she felt that she should have figured it out before now. Her anger at knowing that he had lied to her was matched by the understanding she now had as to why he had stopped trusting her, stopped talking to her…stopped loving her. 

She had never stopped loving him, something she had not fully realized before she figured out the truth. But as soon as she had seen the seal in his study and known that she had been the one to send him to his death, her heart had been gripped by the fear she felt, the sorrow at the thought that she may never see him again. 

They arrived in Paris a short time later, and as Abe helped her out of the carriage, she felt both relief and terror knowing she was in the same city as her husband while he was being hunted ruthlessly. 

“I will go contact the rest of the League, and see if Henry is with them,” Abe said as they checked into their inn. “Stay here, and I will return with news by nightfall.” 

Abigail nodded, knowing that he would never leave if he thought she had plans of her own. She was the one who had helped Farber figure out that his target was Henry. She needed to help make it right. 

Once Abe was gone, she pulled the hood of her traveling cloak low over her face, and slipped out the front door. She had gotten a good look at the map in Henry’s study, and her familiarity with the city made it easy to remember which spots had been marked. The inn that Abe had chosen was closest to another inn that had been on the map, so she would start there. 

It was a short walk to the other inn, and she took comfort in walking the familiar streets of a place she once called home. 

She reached the second inn after a few minutes, and she stepped inside. 

Citizen Farber sat at a table in the middle of the room, his chair facing the front door, and even with her hood on, his eyes met hers. He stood to meet her, and she knew she would not make it back outside before he reached her. 

“Lady Morgan, what a pleasure to have you here with us,” Farber said, his voice dripping with condescension. He gestured for one of the guards to grab her. She struggled against the man’s hold, but could not get free. 

“You will be useful later,” Farber said as he walked with her and the guards to a side room, out of view from the main room, “but I need you out of sight for now.”

With that, she and the guard walked into the side room, and Farber closed the door. 

———

Henry walked into the inn, spotted Farber and walked straight to the table where he was sitting. 

“Monsieur Farber, was it? What a surprise meeting you here,” Henry said, taking the seat across from Farber with a grin. 

“There is no need to pretend with me, Henry. I know your secrets. Why do you think I’m here?”

Henry’s smile never dropped. “Do you now? That’s demmed clever of you.” 

“Henry.” Farber said simply. “I applaud your efforts, but you were never going to outwit me.”

Henry’s answering smile was droll as he sprawled back in his chair. “Lud, sir, how could I ever hope to outwit such a clever agent of the Committee of Public Safety?”

Farber’s smile remained as he stood. “Pretend all you like, Henry, but I know you have plans. One does not live for centuries and not learn how to outwit an enemy.” 

Henry froze, the smile still on his face, but there was fear and surprise in his eyes now. 

“Odd’s fish, my dear fellow, I haven’t the foggiest what you are going on about. Centuries, Lud! What a lark!” 

Henry waved his hand about, the lace at his wrist flapping, but his voice wavered, and Adam’s smiled only widened. 

“I know what you are Henry. We share the same curse, the same affliction. Why do you think I’ve been so keen to catch you? I’ve lived long enough that I see little merit in showing loyalty to one country. These foolish peasants will soon be dead, and I will not, and their revolution will be meaningless. But you—you are who I’ve been waiting almost a millennia to find.” 

Henry’s smile remained, and he fought to keep his languid expression and posture as Farber spoke. 

“Really, Farber, I know that this revolution of yours is monstrous, but your sense of humor really is off the mark. Have you tried a change in diet?”

“Enough!” Citizen Farber commanded as he brought out a pistol and aimed it directly at Henry. 

Henry sat up straight, his hands going out in front of him. Gone was the idiotic drawl. “I don’t think you need to do anything quite so rash as that, Farber. If what you say is correct, it won’t do any good, now will it, and if your theory is wrong, I doubt your committee will be so pleased to hear you murdered a man without consulting them first.” 

“Oh, Henry, you have too many secrets, and you don’t want any of them coming out.” 

Farber gestured at one of the guards at the back of the room, and the man left before coming back in a moment later with Abigail. 

“Henry!” 

“Abigail!” 

There was real fear in Henry’s expression now, and Farber’s smile widened as he saw it. 

“It would be such a shame if your lovely wife were to find out your secret, now wouldn’t it?”

“Henry, what is he talking about?” Abigail asked in confusion. 

“Yes, Henry, why don’t you tell her? I know she’s figured out that you’re the Scarlet Pimpernel, else why would she be here, but did you tell her _everything_? Based on the rumors about how cold your marriage became so quickly after it had started, I’m guessing not. Let’s fix that, shall we?”

“Henry?” Abigail asked, her voice hesitant. 

Henry closed his eyes for a moment before taking in a breath and opening them again. He stared at Farber with an intense hatred but remained silent. 

Abigail caught a flash of movement outside the window. She turned to look more closely. It had looked like someone was walking around the side of the building. 

Citizen Farber turned to Abigail after waiting for Henry to speak, and Abigail turned back to look at him as he spoke. “Your husband is not only the Scarlet Pimpernel, but he is immortal, has been around for at least a century by my count. As if a mere mortal could pull off the schemes he does.” 

Abigail’s expression became more fearful and incredulous. 

“I see you’ll need some convincing. Let me prove it to you.” Adam said as he refocused the gun on Henry. 

“No!” Abigail shouted, straining against the guard who held her captive. 

“I would not do that if I were you,” said a voice from behind them. 

Farber whirled around to see Abe, Lord Hanson, Sir Moore, and Lucas with weapons of their own.

They were still in danger, but Abigail felt a surge of relief at seeing her brother alive and unharmed. 

“You are still outnumbered. This changes nothing,” Farber said, calmly, his gun still pointed at Henry. 

“Are you so certain about that?” Abe asked as several more members, enough to outnumber Farber and his handful of guards, came in through the other door. 

“Very well,” Farber said after several long moments, lowering his weapon. “I can tell when I am defeated.” 

He allowed himself and his guards to be taken by other members of the League. 

“I know I’m right, Henry,” Farber murmured to Henry as he was led out of the room. 

Henry knew, even as he sagged back against his chair, that this wasn’t over. If what he had said was true, and they did share the same curse, Farber would not let this go. Henry knew he would see him again. 

“Henry,” Abigail called out, but she seemed frozen in her spot, unable to look away, unable to move. 

“Abigail,” he whispered, her name hoarse and raw as his eyes met hers. How could he worry about the distant threat of Farber’s return when she stood there looking at him like she was?

He reached one hand out, and she was in his arms. 

“Oh, Henry, can you ever forgive me?” she asked between kisses and caresses, as they reacquainted themselves with each other and proved to themselves that the other was indeed there and unharmed. 

“Darling, you have nothing to forgive. I am the one who should be begging your forgiveness.” 

She shook her head. “How could I have ever thought that you were nothing more than the empty headed fop you presented to the world? I should have seen what you were doing and stood by you,” she said, her voice passionate and strong. 

“No, my darling, I should never have doubted you. I pushed you away. The blame for that lies at my feet,” he said, pushing a stray lock of hair away from her forehead. “Your warning to Abe was able to get to us just in time, darling. You saved us.” 

“It was all I could do,” she said with a soft smile, “especially after I was the one who put you in danger.”

“I would not have been in danger, if I had confided in you in the first place.”

“We have both acted foolishly, but now we must find a way home. I do not wish to be without my husband ever again.” 

They both knew that she was referring not only to the times he had been away from the estate, but the times he had been beside her but equally as absent, of the months of their marriage wasted. 

“My yacht is anchored just off the coast, about a mile from here, so finding our way home will not be too difficult.” 

Abigail beamed up at him, and leaned up to kiss him again. Henry pulled back, his expression serious and fearful and Abigail took a step back, confused. They had defeated Citizen Farber, they would soon be home, what could cause Henry to look at her like that?

“Abigail…” he trailed off before taking in a breath. “The League is not the only thing I have been hiding. There is something else.” 

Her heart pounding, and dread rushing through her, she took a deep breath of her own, and kept her eyes on him. “Tell me,” she said softly. “Whatever it is, it will be fine.” 

“I am not sure that it will,” Henry said, his arms tightening around her, “but I cannot bear to lose you again.” 

“Henry, what is it?”

“What Citizen Farber was saying before, about my being immortal, it is all true.” 

Abigail remained silent as she searched Henry’s face for any sign that this was another of his lies, another mask. There was sincerity and fear and a longing in his eyes that she could not deny, even as she struggled to accept such a reality. He was trusting her with this, taking a leap of faith. She could only do the same. 

“I believe you.” 

She barely had time to react as Henry pulled her into a tight embrace. 

“Thank you, thank you,” he whispered, almost like a chant, and she felt the tears well up as she thought what he must have gone through hiding so much of himself. 

After several moments, he pulled back, and she saw that his eyes were shining with tears as well. 

“I do believe you, Henry, but how is such a thing possible?”

He smiled down at her. “It is a long story.” 


End file.
